


4 AM

by themissinglenk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: Contemporary AU, M/M, Música, from tumblr, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themissinglenk/pseuds/themissinglenk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean tries to serenade Eren with badly written love songs at four in the morning. // from tumblr, open prompts, contemporary au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 AM

“ _Daniel’s traveling tonight on a plane… I can see the red taillights, headed for Spain…_ ”

Good song. Eren liked that song. So what if it was Elton John, originally? Fuel’s acoustic cover it was much better in his opinion, and he paid his dues to the King of Pop by (secretly) thoroughly enjoying _I Want Love_ so it was all cool.

“ _They say Spain is pretty, but I’ve never been. Daniel says it’s the best place that he’s ever seen…_ ”

Eren pried his eyes open. Good song, but—where the fuck was it coming from? His radio was off. He’d fallen asleep with the little TV on his dresser on again, but it was just airing a commercial for pet food. Groggily, Eren looked around as the world slowly swung back into semi-awake focus. Messy room. Clothes in piles. Closet cramped full of old stuff from middle school. Baseball bat. Red walls. Stolen street signs (his pride and joys). Band posters. Movie posters. Collage of photos from parties. Twenty-dollar slap-together desk with the pencil markings and pen etchings, a total being kept here of adolescent excursions into drugs and alcohol, a tree of tally marks there keeping track of curious romantic excursions (and how many weeks it had taken a certain blockhead to say those three vital words).

“ _Daniel, you’re a star!_ ”

Outside.

It was coming from outside.

Eren groaned and dragged himself out of bed, tripping rather gracelessly over his backpack and making sure to kick it in retribution as he got back up and threw his window open.

Two stories down, dappled with shadows from the best tree to sneak out of your house on in the history of the Laurelhurst neighborhood. That’s where the music was coming from.

It was Jean, and he had an acoustic guitar, and he was switching painfully between the same three chords as his voice wavered up to Eren’s bedroom window:

“ _In the face of the sky-y-yyy_ …”  
  
Gah, gravelly timbre, those familiar easily seduced chills—no, don’t give in!

“What in the name of fucking _Christ_ are you doing?” Eren spat, pretty sure if he leaned any farther out into the early spring chill, he’d fall and break his neck.

Jean gawked up at him, the last few vibrations of sound hanging on the air.

“Are you fucking _drunk_?” Eren couldn’t get the words out fast enough, eyes wide. “Are you _stoned_? If my mom hears you—if my _dad_ hears you—he’s on fucking call this week, you jackass—”

A light went on in the house across the street and Eren swallowed the last of his tirade with a tiny (raspy) squeak. He tore through his room, fumbling on some jeans and a hoodie and a denim jacket, and maybe he should have thought not tying his shoes through before he shimmied down the Sneak Out Tree and gave Jean a heartfelt two-fist shove before he’d even finished stumble-landing.

“Where’s your car?” Eren hissed.

“Over here, asshole,” Jean grumbled resentfully. “What the hell was that for, by the way? You can’t just appreciate my spontaneity? Would you rather me give you flowers in the middle of class? No, don’t think so. Reiner and the other jocks would kick the living shit out of you and then you’d be the lesbians’ favorite little gay brother and I don’t think you wanna sit at Ymir’s table during lunch, do you?”

“I think there’s a rule somewhere that jocks can’t beat other jocks up.”

“You’re not a jock.”

“I’m on the fucking soccer team!”

“And I wrestle, but that means nothing to quarterbacks.” Jean slid his guitar in the backseat (which was full of papers and fast food trash and maybe a cigarette carton or two, and plenty of memories of cramped and sticky make-out sessions). He slammed his car door, glaring at Eren over the peeling roof of it. “If it was really that terrible, just say so. I thought it sounded like a great idea half an hour ago.”

“It wasn’t terrible.” Eren hunched in his double jackets, hands shoved in the pockets, returning Jean’s pinched-up sulk. “It’s not that you can’t sing.” There was that God-awful blush again, ugh. Fucking. Come. On. Be a man! “You have a really good voice, actually… I like it…”

“Um. Thanks.”

“It’s just… You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood. It’s quieter here than where you live. Guys don’t just come around serenading.”

“But you said—when we were learning about Venice—you got all weird and flustered and corny and you were like, ‘Man, that sounds nice, someone singing to you because words aren’t enough—’”

Eren’s face was on fire. He literally almost choked on the words. “I just meant—it was a romantic idea—or like—a harlequin fetish or something—”

“That’s two different things!”

“Shut up!”

“I guess it makes sense you weren’t serious. That’s eighteenth-century Venice, not  2002 Seattle.”

“Maybe if you’d been singing Nirvana instead…”

“Damn. Seriously?”

“Yeah. Sitting naked on my bed with your guitar. ‘About a Girl.’ Maybe rose petals, too.”

“Fucking _seriously_?”

“No. I’m kidding, dork.” Eren couldn’t even be angry anymore. He wilted in defeat against a goofy smile, rounding the back of Jean’s car and bumping up against his shoulder. Silent plea to be held. Jean acquiesced, folding Eren in against his chest. Eren breathed deep. Sweet scent, familiar form, comforting body heat.

The light went out across the street.

“But what if you _had_ woken up my parents?” Eren grumbled. “No offense, but I would’ve told them you thought it was someone else’s house.”

Tip of the chin. Nuzzle of noses. Soft, warm press of the mouth, shiver sparking down the spine at the caress, the taste, the pliant _pop_ as heads tipped to accommodate the motion. Tentative nudge of tongue, back arching. Shy biting kisses. Jean’s car shifted a little when he backed Eren up against it, and Jean’s hands were so cold under Eren’s shirt, it made his heart leap up and get stuck in his throat. The thrill of the illicit. The touch. The feel, burning into memory. If they kept this up, he was going to get too hard to sleep off—

_Oh God, it looks like Daniel… Must be the clouds in my eyes…_

“Your jeans are unbuttoned,” Jean husked against Eren’s temple, and Eren choked on his breath with another one of those awful post-pubescent cracks in his voice. He’d been in such a hurry to drag Jean out of his side yard, he’d forgotten to fasten the jeans he’d dragged on.

Oh well.

The brush of Jean’s fingers over the hot skin there above his boxers was devilishly nice. Eren locked his arms around Jean’s shoulders and chuckled. He wasn’t going to admit that this was actually much more touching than any Venetian serenade or _harlequin fetish_ he’d imagined in English class earlier. Because maybe if Jean thought he needed to do better, he’d dwell really long and hard on it, and just might actually one day show up on Eren’s bed in his birthday suit with rose petals and _I need an easy friend…_ Maybe even a little Goo Goo Dolls— _Don’t suppose I’ll ever know what it means to be a man…_

Maybe.

A guy could dream, right? 

 

_end._


End file.
